Spinning Out Of Control

by Vickie McDonough

  “I’m not avoiding Missy. I just don’t know much about tending for babies,” Micah said to Jonah as both men entered the cabin with an armload of wood. He glanced at her, closed the door with his booted foot, then crossed the room and dropped his load in the woodbin, just as Jonah had done.

  Sookie glided into the parlor with Missy on her shoulder. “Miz Beth is takin’ her nap, and lit’l Missy done finished her lunch and is ready to play.”

  Amy sighed, relieved all the noise hadn’t disturbed Beth. They all needed a few moments without the active child racing about. How did those women with six children manage?

  “There’s no time like the here and now.” Jonah peered up at Micah then glanced at Missy.

  Micah lifted his dirty hands. “I can’t touch a baby. I’m filthy.”

  “There’s water in the basin for yo’ to clean up.”

  Amy rather enjoyed watching the little, old man stand up to brawny Micah. Even though they were of different races, Jonah seemed more like Micah’s good friend than his slave.

  Micah sighed and looked at his daughter then back at his hands. In the weeks that he’d been home, he had yet to hold the child. Amy wondered if he blamed Missy for her mother’s death. She took the baby from Sookie. “The washing is ready to be hung up.”

  “Yes’m. I’ll tend to it right away.” Sookie lifted the latch on the door then went outside.

  Amy checked herself and called out the door, “Thanks for your help, Sookie.” She didn’t ever want to become accustomed to treating Sookie and Jonah like mere slaves. She wished she felt confident enough to speak to Micah about the issue of slavery but knew that would have to wait until they were more comfortable with each other, if that time would ever come.

  Amy smiled at the sweet baby. How could anyone not love such a happy, little thing? Missy squirmed; then her mouth formed an O, and she cooed out a greeting. Amy’s insides warmed as if she’d drunk a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning.

  “All right, I’ll hold her after I wash.”

  Amy glanced up, surprised at Micah’s announcement. Her heart soared with relief that he was finally acknowledging his second daughter.

  “God’s been telling me I haven’t been much of a father to Missy. I need to do a better job.” Micah pivoted and splashed in the water basin.

  Was he embarrassed by his surprising confession? Amy studied his wide shoulders, so different from her father’s slim, bent form. Had God really spoken to Micah about Missy? Amy’s mother often said God had spoken with her, but Amy could never understand how a being you couldn’t see or hear could speak to you. Jonah, too, was quick to tell her how he conversed with God. Imagine a Holy Being who talked to His children.

  Micah approached her. He dried his hands on a towel then tossed it over one shoulder.

  “Praise da Lawd. This surely be a happy day.” Jonah’s wide smile could have fueled a dozen lanterns.

  Micah dropped into his rocking chair then looked at Amy, as if for encouragement.

  “She’s a sweet girl. Has an even temperament. I suspect she won’t be as rambunctious as Beth when she’s bigger.” Amy’s arm shook, both in anxiety and happiness.

  The corners of Micah’s lips curved up in a gentle smile, and his eyes took on a faraway look. Was he remembering Beth as a baby? When Amy stepped toward him, he looked her way again, and her heart thundered in her ears. Would he reject his child? She knew what it was like to be rejected because she’d been born a female instead of a male.

  Please God, if You’re really up there, let Micah Walsh fall in love with Missy. She deserves a father.

  Amy could feel Micah’s hands tremble as she passed him his daughter. The baby studied him with wide blue eyes. Her fuzzy hair stuck straight up like the down of a duckling.

  “She has blond hair—like Kathryn’s.” Micah stroked Missy’s head as if he were touching something rare and valuable.

  Amy didn’t miss the awe in his comment. Had he not looked closely enough at his daughter before now to know her hair color? She wanted to be angry at him for his neglect, but she couldn’t be as she watched his face transform from trepidation to pride. His eyes shone, and he blinked back tears. A smile pulled at her lips that she couldn’t hold back. Joy flooded her heart. Perhaps this baby wouldn’t grow up with a father who despised her.

  The love in Micah’s expression was evident. She glanced up to see tears coursing down Jonah’s face. He nodded with his head in the direction of the door, and she followed.

  Peeking back at Micah as she and Jonah slipped out, she heard him say, “Hello, Melissa Kathryn Walsh, I’m your father.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she shut the door. Melissa. Had he given the baby that name so they could still call her Missy as a nickname?

  “Glory hallelujah! Thank you, Jesus.” Jonah hopped down the stairs then did a stiff-legged jig in the grass. He looked heavenward, and her gaze followed.

  If there was a God in heaven, He’d truly worked a miracle this day.

  Amy needed something to divert her from the heart-tugging scene inside, or she just might burst into tears. She decided now was as good a time as any to inventory the canned items in the cellar. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought that some things had gone missing lately. But who could be taking them? Could a stranger be helping himself to their supplies?

  Before she could go to Micah about the missing supplies, she had to be certain. She would rearrange things in her own system, and then if any were missing later, she’d know for sure.

  ❧

  Micah yawned in the dark. He forced his cramped body to lie still and to stay awake. If his brother was up to something, Micah was determined to figure out what it was. Ben tossed and turned on his bed.

  Needing something to keep his mind active to drive sleep away, he thought about Missy. He’d been a fool to distance himself from her. She was just a little baby. It wasn’t her fault her mother had died, though he knew at first he had blamed her. Did he need to blame someone for Kathryn’s death so he wouldn’t blame himself?

  The pain of her being gone wasn’t as raw as it had been last month, but it still hurt. If only he’d been here.

  He shook his head. No. He couldn’t keep thinking that. Jonah told him often that God works in mysterious ways. Well, it sure was a mystery to him why the Good Lord would take a young mother from her children. There had to be a reason, and he would trust God to reveal it one day.

  He yawned and prayed for his daughters, for this year’s crop, and for Ben. The thoughts in his mind grew thick and slower in coming, mixing with the inky blackness of exhaustion. His body relaxed. Perhaps he could rest for a few minutes. Perhaps Ben wouldn’t get up tonight.

  A loud thump startled Micah awake. He heard a scratching noise and realized Ben was climbing down the ladder. He shot up off his mat and grabbed in the dark for his boots, thankful he’d slept in his clothes. Peeking past the quilt that covered the opening to the room, in the moonlight he saw Ben disappear around the corner of the house instead of heading toward the privy. Was he going to the barn?

  Micah had learned to move stealthily when trapping and glided down the ladder. He tiptoed to the side of the cabin and could just make out Ben’s form heading into the barn. His heart pounded out a frenzied rhythm, and his stomach swirled with anxiety. What was Ben up to?

  As he eased inside the barn, the familiar smells soothed him, but a shaft of light shone upward from the opening in the floor, increasing his anxiety. Downstairs, in the small room where he stored his furs, he could hear Ben’s voice but couldn’t make out what the boy was saying. Micah crept closer, hoping not to disturb the sleeping animals and alert Ben to his presence.

  His heart thundered in his ears and all kinds of thoughts assaulted his mind. Was Ben stealing the remaining furs and selling them?

  Ben was just fourteen when their parents died in an accident. Micah was already married with a pregnant wife to care for. He’d been grieving and knew he hadn’t been as good
a support to Ben as he should have. What did he know about raising a hurting, angry young man?

  Holding his breath, he eased forward and leaned over to try to discover who was down in his hideout with Ben. Unable to see, he shuffled forward. A fine sprinkling of hay from the barn floor spiraled down. The voices went silent. Ben gasped and held up a lantern. He looked up with wide eyes, but beside him, Micah could see the whites of three more pairs of eyes set against the black backdrop of frightened slave faces.

  Micah stepped back and grabbed his head, his thoughts swirling, mixing with a deep ache that knew no bounds. No. It couldn’t be.

  His little brother was a slave trader!

  Seven

  Micah’s heart sank to his feet. He placed both hands on the top rail of an empty stall and dropped his head between his outstretched arms.

  “Dear God, no.”

  The short prayer was all he had strength to utter. His whole body trembled. How could he have failed his brother so badly? Didn’t Ben value human life?

  “Micah! It’s not what you think.” Ben was right behind him, his voice begging Micah to listen.

  He didn’t want to hear his brother’s excuses, but he stood, swiping at his eyes before he turned. A musket ball to his gut would have hurt less. Somehow he had to right this wrong. Had to make Ben see the error of his ways.

  Taking a strengthening breath, he turned to face his brother. At least Ben had the sense to look regretful. From downstairs, he could hear the soft murmuring of the slaves. It sounded as if they were praying. They had no way of knowing he was an abolitionist and couldn’t abide a man owning another man.

  The lantern light shined upward from the cellar, illuminating Ben in an eerie glow. He paced and fidgeted as he always did whenever he was in trouble.

  How would their father have handled this situation? If only their parents could have lived until Ben was completely grown. Micah had had so many responsibilities suddenly dumped on his twenty-one-year-old shoulders when his parents died that he’d barely managed to keep the farm up and running and keep his homesick wife from hightailing it back to her parents. He hadn’t been the support his brother needed.

  “Listen to me, Micah.” Ben turned his pleading gaze toward him. “I know what you think, but you’re wrong.”

  “No, Ben. You’re the one who’s wrong. How could you not know slave trading is a wretched, evil thing?” A wave of anger washed over Micah, replacing his initial shock.

  “I am not slave trading.” Ben spit out each syllable in staccato. His expression took on a determined hardness.

  Micah blinked, confused by his brother’s declaration. “Then why are there slaves in our barn?”

  Ben looked at his feet and kicked at a clod of dirt, stirring up a cloud of dust that settled over his boot. “They’re runaways. I run a safe house.”

  Micah barely heard the words. His mind churned. Runaways. Not slaves.

  His heart soared, only to plummet again as he considered the staggering ramifications. Ben had brought illegal runaways onto their property. Slave catchers didn’t care if they captured the right Negro; they’d take any that were handy. “Don’t you realize how you’ve endangered Jonah and Sookie by bringing these slaves here?”

  “I’m real careful, Micah. You’ve been back a month and are just now finding out.”

  “You’ve brought runaways here before?” Micah heaved a sigh. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “About eight months.”

  Stunned, Micah leaned back against the stall gate. His horse, in the neighboring stall, stuck his big head over the railing and nickered. Micah reached out and patted Rusty. He needed the comfort of his old friend while he decided what to do with Ben and his dilemma. His brother had been helping runaway slaves since before Micah had left to go trapping. Unbelievable! They’d been right under his own nose, but he’d been too preoccupied to notice. Now he understood why his brother had been so opposed to getting a dog.

  “If an irate slave catcher had stormed into the cabin, one of the females could have gotten injured. I can’t believe you’d imperil the girls like this.”

  Ben puffed up like an old rooster. “I never put them in danger.”

  Micah took a step toward his brother, his ire growing. “Do you have any idea what slave catchers do to agents and safe houses when they’re discovered?” Ben’s eyes widened as Micah moved closer. “They don’t care who they hurt. They burn houses, kill livestock, and I can’t even say what they do to unprotected women.”

  Ben finally had the sense to back down. The concern in his eyes did little to soothe Micah. “I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right. You didn’t think.”

  “But you’re an abolitionist. How can you not help them?”

  Micah crossed his arms and glared at Ben. “I have too much to worry about trying to keep this farm afloat so we have food to last the winter and enough produce that we can barter for the things we need. I have a nursing baby and a three-year-old who don’t have a mother. And a little brother who’d rather help runaway slaves than help his own brother work their farm.”

  Ben hiked up his chin. “It’s not my farm. It’s your farm.”

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Micah stared at his brother. Beth wasn’t the only one who’d grown while he’d been gone. Ben was only a few inches shorter than he now. His brother’s face had lost that boyish look. How could he make Ben understand how he felt?

  “As far as I’m concerned, the farm belongs to both of us.”

  Ben shook his head and kicked at a tuft of hay. “Pa left it to you.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You were too young for him to leave part of it to you when he died. You’ll always have a home here.”

  “It’s not the same thing. You don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think.”

  Ben glared at him. “No, you don’t. You never trust me. Always think of me as the younger brother who never does anything right. Well, freeing slaves feels right. You could have at least given me the benefit of the doubt before you accused me of being a slave trader.”

  The animals in their stalls grew restless at the raised voices. They stomped, snorted, and moved around, tossing their heads. Ben was right. He had jumped to conclusions. That thought strangled Micah’s throat, threatening to cut off his breath. Why had he believed the worst of Ben instead of trusting his good character? He needed some time alone with God to sort things out.

  Glancing down in the hole, he saw three heads of black hair—two men and one woman. While he didn’t approve of slavery, he wasn’t sure if he was willing to put his family in jeopardy to help those runaways. He looked at Ben. “Just get them out of here as fast as possible—and don’t bring any more slaves onto this land.”

  As he closed the barn door and headed back to the house, it struck him that he’d included Amy as part of his family when arguing with Ben. He had to admit he was growing fond of her. While he wouldn’t classify her as a beauty like Kathryn, she was easy on the eyes—and kind, even when he hadn’t treated her as he should have. Shame tightened his chest. He was a Christian and had done very little to show God’s love to Amy. He climbed the ladder to the upstairs room, purposing to do better—with Ben and with Amy.

  ❧

  A river of excitement coursed through Amy as Micah drove the wagon into town. It had been over a month since she’d first come into Stewart’s Gap looking for her cousin. The only dark cloud on such a lovely day was her fear of running into Hank Foster. Perhaps he’d found some other woman on which to turn his affections by now. She could only hope.

  Amy could tell that Saturday in Stewart’s Gap was as busy a day as it was in Boston. Many of those living on the outskirts of the town like her and Micah ventured in to stock up on supplies. Children ran up and down the dirt streets, playing hide-and-seek behind the wagons their parents were loading. A group of men stood lined up outside the barber shop, talking and laughing. The smell of fres
h pastries from a bakery wafted on the morning breeze, making Amy’s stomach growl.

  “We used to have to travel over a day’s ride to town.” Micah glanced sideways at her. “About the time I was eight or so, a group of men started Stewart’s Gap as a freight town.”

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief to not have to travel that far when they needed supplies.

  “Can I have a pickle, Papa?” Beth squirmed on the bench seat between Amy and Micah.

  “Bit early for that, isn’t it, Punkin?”

  Beth shook her head. “Nope.”

  Micah had wanted to leave her at home with Sookie, but Amy thought that caring for the two girls alone might be too much for the young slave woman. She didn’t abide one person owning another, so she did whatever she could to make Sookie’s life easier.

  Amy glanced at Micah, the other reason she wanted to bring Beth. The long drive into town would have been uncomfortable without the child’s constant chatter. Though he was treating her nicer these days, she couldn’t imagine riding several hours alone with him.

  Beth jumped to her feet, and Amy reached out to steady her as Micah stopped the wagon in front of the mercantile. “I have an account, so get what you need. Be sure you get some fabric to make summer dresses for each of you females, Sookie included.”

  His generosity touched Amy’s heart. Had he noticed she only had two dresses? And those were getting threadbare. She’d taken one of Kathryn’s dresses apart to make a new one for Beth, but she didn’t feel right making one for herself.

  Micah reached up to help her down, and Amy’s heart jolted. She would rather get down by herself, but it would be discourteous to refuse his aid. Tingles tickled her fingers as she put her hands on Micah’s broad shoulders. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her up as if she weighed next to nothing then set her on the ground. Butterflies danced in her belly and her hands trembled. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d begun to care for Micah Walsh. Her initial opinion of him had been wrong. He was a kind man who loved his family with a passion and wanted so desperately to support them that he had left them in Ben’s care and gone trapping for months during the winter to provide for them. It was much more than her own father had ever done.